Coffe, Cinnamon, and Something More
by singsongsung
Summary: Literati. Pretty random.


**Coffee, Cinnamon, and Something More**

**A/N: **I'm better at writing Rory and Logan together, but hey, I love Milo Ventimiglia. So here's the first lit fic I've actually written and liked.

"You're home late," she said quietly.

He turned away from the door he'd been locking.

She was leaning against one side of the doorframe, in the doorway of his bedroom. She was wearing her favourite pair of his pajama pants and a light blue Yale hoodie. Her arms were wrapped around herself protectively. Her eyes were rimmed with red.

"What are you doing here?"

She smiled softly. "Heartfelt greeting," she said sarcastically, but her eyes remained serious.

"Ror," he sighed. "I didn't mean it like that. I thought…I thought we weren't meeting up until tomorrow. For dinner."

She nodded slowly.

"What's wrong?" he asked, brushing some hair out of his eyes.

She looked at him, and he noticed that her eyes were exactly that same as they had been when she was sixteen. "Jess," she sighed. "I know what you're doing."

"What?"

"You're leaving. You're going to leave."

"Rory…" he didn't know what to say. Part of him was glad that she'd realized, so that he didn't have to tell her. The little voice in his head that only existed when she was around reminded him, _You wouldn't have told her anyway. You just would have left._

"I'm sorry," he said, because it was all that he could say, and he was sure he saw her heart break behind those eyes.

She hugged herself tighter and looked down, her lips trembling. After several seconds of painful silence, she whispered, "Why?"

He crossed the room to stand in front of her. Tentatively, he took her hand, his thumb grazing her knuckles. "It's not…because I don't love you. You know that, right?"

She nodded. "It's just…the way we are, right? We're always leaving one another."

"I wish…I wish I was different. I wish I knew how to love you the way you deserve."

She laughed through her tears. "You're never this corny."

He wrapped one arm around her waist. "Sure I am. I used to quote poetry to you all the time."

"You're a closet romantic."

His eyebrows shot up. "Dirty?"

She nodded, biting her lip. Her hand wandered to the back of his neck. "How am I going to mock movies without you?"

He answered her question with a question. "Remember our first kiss as a couple?" She nodded, and he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. "I still have this. I'll always have this."

"You should quit," she whispered. "But keep that one."

"Listen, Rory…there are hundreds of guys out there who will treat you like a princess. They'll marry you and take care of you."

She locked her eyes with his, blue on brown. "What if I don't want that?"

"I know you do. You want to get your dream job, get married, start a family. I know you do." She remained quiet, and he sighed. "We can't keep doing this, Rory. It's not fair to you."

"It's not fair to either of us," she corrected him. "I know."

"I can only corrupt Star's Hollow's angel so much, right?" he asked, running his fingers through her hair.

She looked down and let out a single sob. He put a finger under her chin to lift her face back up and kissed her.

Rory responded immediately, her hand flattening on the back of his neck as he pulled her closer. It was a serous, desperate kiss. When she was younger, she used to think his kisses tasted like everything forbidden, but now she knew: they tasted like sex, and they were thoroughly addictive.

When they broke the kiss, in need of oxygen, she placed her hand lightly on his cheek. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

He nodded and brushed his lips against her forehead. She sidestepped him and headed for the door, hoping to get out of the apartment before she broke down.

"Hemingway." His soft voice carried across the room.

She turned back to him and shook her head, lips pressed together in an effort to keep back her tears. "Rand."

His eyes were sad as he said, "I love you, Rory."

"I love you, too. Don't-" a tear trickled down her cheek and she wiped it away. "Don't think you're getting these pajama pants back.

He nodded, smirking slightly, and watched as she closed the door softly behind her.

He went into his room and stripped down to his boxers, not bothering to put anything away. He climbed into bed and lay there, staring at the ceiling. In the morning, he would have to deal with work. Not only that, but he knew Luke would be calling, yelling at him because Rory was sobbing on Lorelai's couch.

His sheets smelled like her- a mixture of coffee and cinnamon and something more- and he made a mental note to change them. He didn't know what she'd do, but he knew she'd be okay. Luke would kill anyone who tried to hurt her.

Jess sighed and rolled onto his side, trying to fall asleep. His nostrils filled with coffee beans, cinnamon, and something more- and he knew that he missed her.


End file.
